


An Ever-Growing Process

by QueenMaria



Series: Grey-Dawn [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMaria/pseuds/QueenMaria
Summary: On Aneria's first real day in Skyrim, she survived Helgen. On Aneira's second day in Skyrim, she met the Companions.A series of short chapters about the Dragonborn and a man she meets early on in Skyrim, even though he wasn't the first.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Series: Grey-Dawn [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/700638
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. New Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a quote by Ricardo Montalban:
> 
> True love doesn't happen right away; it's an ever-growing process. It develops after you've gone through many ups and downs, when you've suffered together, cried together, laughed together.

Last Seed 18, 4E 201

Vilkas wielded the training greatsword with ease, moving smoothly into position with the rock cliff behind him. Aneira hefted up the practice sword and iron shield, mirroring him.

They circled each other, revolving slowly around the empty training grounds. She moved in closer, watching as he did the same. There was deep intent in his gaze.

No point in delaying things. Aneira was here to prove herself, and she had others tasks ahead beyond this duel.

She darted in, striking out until her sword met Vilkas’s larger one. The block reverberated through her right side as she whipped the shield adorning her left arm up and into Vilkas’s right.

There was a satisfying grunt as she moved swiftly to her right. Vilkas had already moved to lift his greatsword out of the block and swung it at her. Aneira felt the wind of the swing drifted over her helmet, missing her head by a inch while she ducked.

For how heavy the dulled blade must of been, the Nord wielded it like he would a one-handed sword. Aneira backed away again, swiping her sword across his left leg as she maneuvered behind him.

Too slow, and the dark-haired man slammed his body toward her. His left shoulder met her shield, but Aneira felt her feet stutter on the ground and her muscles locked. Her left arm ground into the shield

Vilkas was still moving. The Bruman fought to unlock her knees, willing her legs to move her backward so she could regain her stance. Her left side shook from the force of the taller man’s impact. Vilkas’s greatsword whipped past her, giving her one more opening to lash out at his arm. Her sword connected easily with the armor of his right shoulder, slicing along the seam in what would’ve been a severely crippling hit, had her sword been sharp.

Her examiner spun around again, too _fast_ for someone in full steel armor and spinning a greatsword. Aneira side stepped to the left, avoiding his powerful swing and putting several feet between them. Taking a deep breath, she waited for his next move.

Vilkas took a deep breath as well and that was gratifying, if nothing else.

He moved smoothly out of his pose, twisting the greatsword until it point down. Aneira straightened again, lowering her own sword. Vilkas gave her a quick nod.

“Not bad. Next time won’t be so easy.”

Aneira inclined her head, removing her helmet so that the morning wind could reach her face. She regulated her breathing, perturbed at how much effort she’d expended on only a minute’s worth of combat.

“You might just make it. But for now, you’re still a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you.” Vilkas marched back toward the weapon’s wrack, mounting the greatsword beside its fellows. Aneira joined him, hanging her sword and shield. She’d only taken a few steps away when Vilkas held out another large blade. “Here’s my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful with it. It’s probably worth more than you are.”

Aneira let herself roll her eyes and grin, scoffing as she took the sword. It hadn’t sounded like a joke, but she couldn’t take it as anything but. And considering she didn’t have more than a few hundred gold to her name at the moment, it wasn’t even all that inaccurate.

Vilkas turned and strode back toward the hall without another word. The spectators sitting at the tables raised a glass to her as he passed, a grinning blonde Nord and smirking Dunmer. Aneira nodded back, eyeing Vilkas until he’d shut the ornate doors.

_“But I still feel the call of the blood.”_

If Aneira hadn’t fled Helgen from a dragon the day before, if she wasn’t about to return to Riverwood to go digging for some stone in a Nordic crypt, if she didn’t have Hadvar waiting to go to Solitude with her, Aneira might have been able to think more about those words and the pain in both Vilkas’s and the Harbinger’s voices. And about the burden they bore together.


	2. Proving Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aneira returns from Dustman's Cairn with more than just Silverhand blood on hers and Farkas's hands.

Last Seed 22, 4E 201

“You’ve had quite the adventure with my brother, I hear.”

Aneira pulled the cotton cloth away from her hair, turning to look at Vilkas standing at the door to the bunks. His arms were crossed, and his gaze was as intense as ever.

“I tried to tell you about it, if you’ll recall.” Aneira tilted her head. “You told me to hold me tongue.”

Vilkas scowled, his arms tightening across his chest. “You were speaking of things you should’ve had no knowledge of. And in the _hall_.”

“I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “The space outside yours and Farkas’s quarters seemed distant enough from the others to ask you about the... transformation.” Everyone else was already upstairs getting ready for dinner, so there was no risk to speaking about it now. The black haired man still scowled for a moment before looking away from her, nodding curtly.

The Dragonborn pressed the cloth back to her long locks to finish drying it, relieved to finally have her body scrubbed clean. The smell of burnt leather had been profound until she’d been able to change into one of her blue tunics and soft pants. “Farkas has already talked to you, then?”

“Aye,” Vilkas replied, turning back toward her begrudgingly and loosening his stance, if only a little. “He said a dragon attacked you on your way back from Dustman's Cairn.”

Aneira inhaled deeply, setting down the towel. Her arms were still tender with new skin over what had been blackened and blistered a few hours before. “On the plains. It came down from the mountains and circled until it saw us.”

She stopped there, sitting down on the cot before reaching under it to draw out the pile that had been her studded armor. Aneira's body ached from the day's exertion, and she was thoroughly glad to be out of her now ruined leather and fur. She held it aloft by the shoulder straps to let the armor unravel from its pile. Vilkas breathed in sharply at the blackened leather and holes in the skirt.

“He said it was a great beast that breathed fire down on you both, just as the legends said. And that you had to heal him a great deal.”

“Well, no matter how quickly we moved, the heat still reached our skin. The dragon stayed aloft for sometime, sweeping over us so we could hardly hit it. Farkas took my bow, and I relied on lightning until it landed.” She let the armor fall back to the floor, reaching for her soft shoes to wear to dinner.

Vilkas took a step toward her then. “But you defeated it,” and she could hear the subtle awe in his voice. “You and my brother defeated it together.”

Aneira met his eyes, letting a smile flicker on her lips. “Aye.”

It had been terrifying to see the thing swoop down from behind, a loud scream the only warning they had before the brown scaled beast was upon them. There hadn’t even been the cover offered by the Watchtower’s fallen walls. She and Farkas had made a mad dash for the boulders that littered the plains, desperate for anything to delay the next wave of flames. They'd only _just_ recovered from the slaughter at Dustman's Cairn, and Farkas had shouted that he couldn’t transform again.

But the two of them killed a dragon. Just one experienced warrior and her. And then she’d taken another soul, a second one, and now she could breathe fire as easily as the dead worm had. Her denial of her destiny seemed hopelessly petty in light of that.

“I envy you,” the Nord said lowly. “Facing such a beast in combat. Smelling it’s blood on the air. _That’s_ what songs are sung about, Shield-Sister.” Vilkas exhaled deeply, and took another step toward her so she was looking up at him from the bed. “Will you tell me about it? _Us_ ,” he quickly amended. “In the hall at dinner tonight? It’s tradition to share in our adventures, and as much as I love my brother, his gifts are not in words.”

Aneira smiled at him, letting the relief of survival and victory soothe her nerves as she had all day. “Of course, Vilkas.”

He grinned. It was a small thing, and then he left, but Aneira saw it. She couldn’t help but grin after his back. The man could play at stiffness all he liked. The Dragonborn had seen him grin.


End file.
